


A Song of the Past

by lifeisyetfair



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeisyetfair/pseuds/lifeisyetfair
Summary: Just a slightly different point of view on the moment when Fingon frees Maedhros, for the prompt "unconfessed love."A translation of Nelja's Une chanson du passé.





	A Song of the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Une chanson du passé](https://archiveofourown.org/works/528630) by [Nelja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja). 



> For Dilly.
> 
> Everything belongs to Tolkien

An air of Valinor rose through the stale air of the Iron Mountains, a song that spoke of youth, glory, love, with an ardor that defied Evil in its very heart.

The same song that, from the top of the cliff, echoed him in strains of suffering changed into a lament for nostalgia, hopes, and lost opportunities.

Fingon raised his head, his heart filled with hope. He climbed the steep slopes almost at a run; at least, as far as he could. The last cliff, vertical and smooth, was an impassable barrier. 

However, they continued to sing, together, drowning in each other’s eyes, and they felt all the walls that had been raised between them collapse: the naïve innocence of childhood and the stupid pride of adolescence, violent words, the exile to Formenos and Fingon’s marriage all seemed so far behind them, the Noldor’s oath forgotten, the fire at Losgar and the pain of Helcaraxe forgiven.

“Kill me,” Maedhros asked in a proud, noble, broken voice.

“I can’t.”

“Don’t make me beg you. In the midst of my sufferings, only one joy remains: Fingon, son of Fingolfin, is still alive and doesn’t hate me. Nothing could grant me sweeter deliverance than his hand.”

For a moment, there was no more hope, no more duties or oaths. Their hearts, stripped bare by music and suffering, could touch, and Fingon thought for a moment of bringing them together forever, by the flame of avowals and the bite of an arrow, and perhaps the flaring of a sword. 

But the Lord of Air did not wish such an end for them, and on the back of the king of Eagles, Fingon could reach Maedhros, offer him freedom and life by cutting his right wrist.

While Thorondor took them towards Mithrim, Fingon held in his arms his cousin’s body, painfully marked by suffering and trial, but alive. However, despite the certainty that they were saved, despite the warmth they shared, Fingon felt further from Maedhros than he had been when they sang together and offered each other their deaths. Everything that had seemed so easy when they were getting ready for that end of hope, struggle, and suffering, was now unattainable.

They no longer belonged to each other. They were going to become warriors and Princes once again, fighting for their peoples, the future, and the light of Arda, and the walls of their destinies were already rebuilding themselves around them. 

That day, Maedhros, eldest son of the house of Feanor, and Fingon, eldest son of the house of Fingolfin, swore everlasting friendship. Their feelings were not exactly those expressed by their words; surely, they were no less.


End file.
